


Plan B From Planet Clueless

by turps



Series: Gross roomies [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the same universe as <a href="http://turps33.livejournal.com/1129017.html">It Came From Within</a>. A shameless pwp where Frank tries to give Mikey what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plan B From Planet Clueless

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the dirty bandom challenge at live journal. Thank you to themoononastick for beta reading ♥

“What do you think about piss play?” Frank asks. He stops scrolling, leaning in closer to the screen, his eyes narrowing as he examines an image of a woman squatting over some sleazy looking guy, his mustache wet and dripping where she’s pissing onto his face. “We could do it in the bathroom.”

There’s a long pause, Ray clearing his throat before he says carefully, “Two things. One, by ‘we’ you better mean you and Mikey, and, two, you want him to _piss_ on you?”

“Of course I mean Mikey, and fuck no.” His head jerking up, Frank looks away from his laptop and over to Ray, who’s standing at the sink and scrubbing at a pan that’s already gleaming. “Have you seen his piss? It’s probably caustic. Why the fuck would I want him to piss on me?”

Deliberately, Ray sets the pan to one side, sudsy water flowing over his fingers before he dries them on a towel. “You brought it up.”

“Yeah. The possibility of me pissing on Mikey.” Frank shakes his head a little, trying to understand how Ray can continually get things so wrong. “I’m thinking he needs to kneel, unless I drink a fuckload and build up the pressure. Tall fucking bastard.”

Ray opens his mouth, then lets it close, staring as he wipes the towel over the droplets of water that sprinkle the counter. Eventually he says, “You want to piss in his hair?”

Frank shakes his head, distracted as he works out logistics. “His face. Pissing in his hair is fucking nasty.”

“And pissing on his face isn’t?” Ray says. He sets down the towel, his mouth curled down at the corners as he adds, “Why are we even discussing this? No details, remember?”

“You asked,” Frank protests. His attention divided, he shoves at his laptop, turning it slightly toward Ray. “Look at this shit. All pictures but no tips about piss range or start up. How the fuck am I supposed to know that shit?”

“It’s not like I know either,” Ray says, his voice climbing and eyes widening as he squints at the screen. “Ask Mikey, he’s the expert.”

Frank slumps forward, his forehead banging against the counter and just missing the corner of his laptop. His eyes closed and nose squashed he takes a moment to just breathe, then says quietly, “I want to surprise him, show him I’m not fucking vanilla.”

“He called you vanilla?” Ray sounds surprised, his footsteps soft as he walks next to Frank.

“Not in so many words,” Frank admits. Eyes still closed he remembers Mikey lying in bed, mouth open and drooling, only the faintest shadow of a bruise left on the arm he had thrown across Frank. “But we don’t do stuff like that, and he has to miss that shit.”

“Meaning you haven’t discussed it.” More footsteps, shadows moving behind Frank’s eyelids and when he opens his eyes Ray is directly opposite, leaning forward, his forearms braced on the counter. “Didn’t the whole bleach thing teach you anything? What the hell do you two do together anyway, because you obviously don’t talk.”

Frank grins, unable to resist taking the opening Ray’s left so wide. “I thought you didn’t want details, but if you must know, sex, lots of mind-blowing, toe-curling sex. Mikey does this thing with his tongue that would blow your mind, and he can fuck like a bunny. Last night he....”

“I get it, enough,” Ray says, shifting awkwardly in place as he indicates the laptop. “If the sex is so good why this?”

“Because that’s what he likes.” Frustrated, Frank sits up straight and runs his hand through his hair, resisting the urge to grab hold and tug. “He’s tried all sorts of stuff, he gets off on it -- got off on it -- and now he’s only got me. What if it’s not enough?”

“It’s enough,” Ray replies instantly, and looks from the laptop to Frank. “Do you even want to do that?”

Frank considers, imagining getting Mikey into the shower and the inevitable resulting awkwardness of actually pissing over his face. Even after doing the research and reading stories Frank can’t imagine dropping his pants and letting rip. He tries to picture Mikey getting himself ready, knees planted in the grime at the bottom of the tub and his back arched as he huddles in on himself, shivering in the unheated bathroom.

How he’d look at Frank who’d be standing at the side of the tub, dick in hand and pants mid-thigh, trying to work out the correct moment to let loose with a stream of warm piss.

It’s an image that feels uncomfortable -- feels wrong -- and Frank admits. “I get the claiming thing, but not with piss.”

“So strike that off the list then,” Ray says instantly and shuts the lid of the laptop. “You need something you both like.”

Ray’s right, Frank knows that, but at the same time, Frank wants to surprise Mikey, and that means picking _something_. It’s tempting to take back his laptop and hit _Google_ yet again, but Frank doesn’t have to, not if he’s honest. Frank looks past Ray, swallows and then says, “I keep thinking about spanking him. Getting him bare-assed and bent over the kitchen table.”

“Okay. Good. Right.” Ray glances at Frank and then sweeps minute crumbs off the counter into his cupped hand. “If that’s what you’re into.”

“I am,” Frank says, and then louder, “yeah, spanking’s good. Fucking good.” Again, Frank starts picturing Mikey, but this time his mental image feels right, vivid and clear, to the extent Frank can almost hear the slap of his palm against flesh, his dick filling, pressing against the front of his jeans as he imagines red marks left against the pale skin of Mikey’s ass. “He likes it too.”

“Great, that’s, um, good to know,” Ray says, and then, hopeful, “More Donkey Kong?”

It’s a tempting prospect, but already Frank’s pushing himself up, sliding off the bar stool and grabbing his mittens from on top of the radiator. By now they’re mostly dry, warm and cozy apart from a damp patch at the base of Frank’s thumb.

“Next time,” Frank says, and tugs on his second mitten before winding his scarf around his neck, arranging until it’s close to his nose. “I need to get back.”

Ray takes Frank’s coat off the hook, holding it up. “So you’re telling me you came here to eat my food, talk about piss play and then go home right after.”

Frank takes his coat, zipping it up over his chin and then pulls on his hat, tugging it down so only his eyes and nose are exposed. He grins, the wool of his scarf tickling his lips. “I brought you hot chocolate.”

“Which was cold,” Ray points out, busy sliding Frank’s laptop into its bag.

Frank holds out his hand and takes the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “I still brought it, and that’s why microwaves were invented.”

“I guess,” Ray allows, and he smiles, warm and genuine as he walks with Frank to the door. “You’ll work it out. Just don’t tell me after.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Frank says, opening the door and stepping into the hallway. He turns, waving a bright-red mittoned hand. “I’ll wait a day at least.”

And he will.

Maybe.

~*~*~*~

By the time Frank gets home the bottom of his pants are soaked through and one foot is squelching, slush working through the rip in the side of his shoe. Curling his toes inside his wet sock, he pulls off a mitten, wool crunching between his teeth as he kicks at the door and delves into his pocket, feeling for his key.

Movements stiff and awkward due to the build up of layers, Frank kicks the door again, fingertips against the end of his key as he yells, “It’s me asshole, let me in.”

Abruptly, the door is jerked open, and Frank aborts his next kick, the toe of his shoe inches from Gerard’s shin.

“Mikey’s still sleeping,” Gerard says, and yawns, exposing all his back teeth. “I made breakfast.”

“Out of what?” Frank asks, well aware of the contents -- or lack of them -- of their fridge. Hoping Gerard hasn’t experimented with dried up pasta and grape juice again, Frank slams the door so it’ll actually stay shut, and starts to shrug off his coat. Hanging it on the nail by the door, he uses his foot to move a damp newspaper, positioning it so it’ll soak up the drips.

“You had coffee, and I brought tacos,” Gerard says, his breath faintly misting.

Technically that means Gerard didn’t make breakfast at all, but Frank lets that go, especially as it means he’s getting free food. An icy drop of water lands on his neck, Frank shivering as he takes off his hat and remaining mitten, then unwinds his scarf, dropping the wet bundle onto the radiator that remains barely warm.

“I moved the space-heater next to the sofa,” Gerard says, talking over his shoulder as he heads for the kitchen. Scooping a mug up on the way he drains the contents and then fills it up with fresh coffee before plucking another mug from the pile in the sink. Ignoring the settling clank of dishes and without looking inside he fills that mug too, and then holds it up toward Frank. “Coffee.”

“You’re fucking disgusting.” It’s a point Frank has to make, and one that rolls off Gerard’s back as he puts the mugs down on the floor and settles onto the sofa, burrowing into the nest he’s made with pillows and Mikey’s quilt. As quilt nests go it’s impressive, especially considering Gerard can only have been at the apartment for a couple of hours at the most, and Frank eyes the comics, candy wrappers and takeout cups that are trapped in the folds of material with admiration.

Rummaging between two pillows Gerard pulls out the remote and unmutes the TV. “There’s a People's Court marathon.”

Pleased, Frank toes off his shoes and flashes a quick grin, already looking forward to Gerard’s rants about injustice. Standing on one foot, Frank peels off his wet sock and throws it toward the bathroom, aiming for the open crack of the door. Of course the sock misses, hitting the wall with a wet splat and sliding down to land in a heap.

Sighing, Frank walks the few steps and picks it back up, not looking inside the bathroom as he opens the door and throws the sock toward the pile of dirty laundry that’s spilling from the corner to under the sink.

“He’s suing for emotional distress over those?” Frank looks over to Gerard, who’s staring at the TV, his mouth twisted into a grimace as an ugly floral shirt is held up by a court usher. “He should pay the dry-cleaner for ruining them.”

“They’re fucking disgusting,” Frank agrees, ready to burrow in with Gerard and start to warm up. But first, “I’m just. Socks.”

Frank goes into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Intending to grab dry socks and then leave, instead he stands still, his attention stolen away by Mikey. He’s curled up in the middle of Frank’s bed, legs tucked up and one hand under his cheek, the blankets pushed back so Mikey’s back and hip are exposed.

With the curtains pushed open, washed out sunlight floods the room and it’s as if Mikey’s caught in his own private spotlight, one that turns his skin pale and darkens the lines of his body. It makes him impossible to resist, Frank’s dick standing up and taking notice as he walks forward and kneels at the side of the bed.

It’s an overwhelming compulsion, Frank needing to touch, and he starts to reach out -- then stops, aware of his cold hands and how Mikey looks so relaxed and warm despite the slipped blankets.

It’s uncomfortable kneeling like this, Frank’s jeans chaffing where they’re pulled tight, and he can feel something hard, digging into his right knee. This close he’s also all too aware of how the sheets are stiffened in places, old stains showing up all too clearly in the bright light of day.

Frank pokes at a spot close to the edge of the bed, feeling the stiffened patch crack as he uses his thumb nail to scrape off a stray pube.

Unexpectedly, Mikey says, “I’m awake.”

His voice is low, rough with sleep and when he opens his eyes they’re sticky in the corners, lashes clumped together as he peers blearily at Frank.

“About time, lazy bastard.” Frank flicks the pube at Mikey and then leans in for a kiss. Aware of Gerard in the next room, Frank keeps it light, but it seems Mikey has other ideas. Reaching out, he grabs hold of Frank’s hoodie and pulls, his intent clear.

“Gerard’s out there,” Frank says, his mouth next to Mikey’s and his hoodie pulled up high on his back.

“I know.” Mikey keeps pulling, and while he’s no weakling there’s no way he should be able to pull Frank up like he is, but somehow Frank’s crawling up onto the bed, pushing the sheets aside and straddling Mikey who makes no protest when Frank lies over him completely, a human blanket of damp and cold.

“He could come in,” Frank says, holding his head up and watching as a droplet of water falls from the ends of his hair, landing on Mikey’s cheek.

“He could,” Mikey agrees, shifting so he can wrap his legs around Frank’s, holding him tight and close. It’s a position that can’t be comfortable, and Frank’s all too aware of how heavy he must be and how Mikey is naked and exposed beneath him. But Mikey doesn’t seem to care, instead he’s grinding up against Frank as much as he can, the droplet trailing down to his ear as he adds, “He could be listening right now.”

Frank reminds himself that Gerard is Mikey’s big brother, that it should be mortifying that he could so easily hear. Except, Frank’s traitorous dick has other ideas and he sees stars behind his eyes when Mikey lets his knees drop to the side and tangles his fingers in Frank’s hair, holding on as they kiss.

Frank gasps at the sharp tug, his tongue in Mikey’s mouth, licking over Mikey’s teeth that feel coated and his tongue dry when it presses against Frank’s. Frank can taste onions and stale beer, can smell the take out they ate for dinner each time Mikey exhales, mixing with the scent of old sweat and dried spunk as they move.

As a combination it should be disgusting, the same as Gerard being so close should be wrong -- but it’s not. It can’t be, and suddenly Frank knows exactly how to surprise Mikey.

Pulling back is hard, but if he wants to maximise his surprise it’s Frank’s only choice. Rolling off Mikey, Frank kisses him, closed-mouthed and briefly and says, “I can’t. Not when he’s right there.”

Mikey sighs, soft and drawn out, but makes no protest apart from, “He wouldn’t care.”

“I know,” Frank says, “But I do.”

And hopes that Mikey believes the lie.

~*~*~*~

It turns out that setting things up is easy.

With Gerard going nowhere, comfortably settled in his nest on the couch for the long haul, it only takes a couple of phone calls before Ray and Otter are agreeing to come over that night. Frank doesn’t even have to use a band meeting as an excuse, just promises beer and food, and that he’ll plug in both space-heaters.

Not that they need them. With so many bodies in so small a space the temperature has crept up, enough that Frank’s down to one layer; and even then he feels hot, sweat under his arms and in the crease of his groin, barely able to move where he’s jammed on the couch between Otter and Gerard.

At their feet, Ray’s sitting on the quilt that’s been spread out on the floor, his legs stretched out and beer bottle placed on the pile of empty pizza boxes he’s made into a make-shift table. Beside him, Mikey’s lying on his belly watching TV, his arms crossed on Ray’s legs and Gerard’s feet resting on the small of his back.

All the while Frank watches, intent only on Mikey. He lost the plot of the movie almost an hour before, caught in the slow build of arousal as he waits for the perfect opportunity to act on his plans. It’s enough that Frank can barely sit still, his stomach in knots and dick hard, something so obvious that Frank’s got a pillow strategically placed on his lap, his hand hidden beneath it and breath catching each time he presses down with the heel of his thumb.

Sometimes Frank thinks Gerard’s caught on, catching him looking after one cut off gasp, but Frank don’t care. He’s going to do this and nothing is going to stop him, except maybe dumb luck. Frank just hopes Mikey moves soon, before his control snaps completely and he comes while watching some mutant shark devour a dinosaur, which would fucking suck, and no doubt leave Frank associating climax with carnage, a problem considering the company he keeps.

“Off, I need to piss.” Finally Mikey moves, squirming from under Gerard’s feet and crawling over Ray’s legs. His movements clumsy, Mikey gets to his feet and heads for the bathroom, ignoring Otter’s protests when he momentarily blocks the TV.

His heart hammering, Frank pulls in a breath and holds it, knowing his timing has to be perfect. Too soon and he’ll catch Mikey’s pissing, too long and he’ll be done and back here. Mentally, Frank counts up to ten, and then without saying a word stands and heads for the kitchen, making a sharp turn at the last minute and going into the bathroom instead.

“Quiet,” Frank commands, slipping into the room. At the toilet Mikey is shaking off, hand on his dick and surprise turning to interest as Frank closes the door.

Mikey wipes his hand on his thigh, his pants gaping open and dick left exposed. Already he’s half hard, anticipatory and waiting, and momentarily Frank’s thrown. This is his show and while that knowledge is heady it’s also unsettling, like Frank’s thrown himself off yet another edge, one where it’s up to him to take total control and give Mikey the things that he’s missing.

Frank listens, hearing Otter talking to Ray, Gerard laughing in response, and Frank’s all too aware of how close they all are, how thin the walls are between them. That awareness presses heavy, Frank’s whole body buzzing as he takes a step forward and grabs Mikey’s arm. Frank pulls hard, using his free hand to turn Mikey, steering him so he ends with his back against the wall.

Frank crowds into Mikey’s space, holding him in place with his body weight and says, “You’re going to stay quiet. They’re right there, so no talking, no sounds.”

At first the words feel awkward, cliched like some bad porno but Mikey’s nodding, his cheeks flushed and dick pressing against Frank’s hip. The feel of Mikey hard against him is enough to make Frank look down, almost breaking his own rule of silence when he sees Mikey’s fully hard, the teeth of his zip digging into the side of his dick.

Turned on, but also concerned, Frank fumbles at Mikey’s button and belt buckle, unfastening them both. “Quiet,” Frank repeats, his voice low but undoubtedly a command. He pushes hard against Mikey, holding him still as Frank slides his hand between washed out denim and skin.

Mikey nods, his eyes fluttering closed as Frank cups his balls, teasing by deliberately avoiding Mikey’s dick. It’s not something Frank intends to keep up for long; they haven’t the time for drawn-out and teasing and to be honest, right now, Frank hasn’t the willpower for that either. He wants it fast and reckless, taking what he needs while commanding Mikey to silence, both aware of their friends who could so easily overhear.

When Frank planned this he imagined a blow job, sinking to his knees and taking Mikey into his mouth, sucking hard and taking him apart fast and brutal. Now that isn’t enough. Mikey’s Frank’s to control, trembling with the effort to stay still, his throat working as he swallows and that’s making new ideas flash through Frank’s head so fast that it’s dizzying.

Right now Mikey looks wanton, so obviously needy as he reacts to each soft, considering touch. It makes Frank want to smash that control, push against Mikey’s limits as he fights to stay quiet, and Frank knows exactly how to achieve that.

“I was going to suck you,” Frank says, and presses his forearm against Mikey’s chest. Holding him still, Frank moves his hips, grinding against Mikey, “But I’m not now.”

Mikey sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as if he’s literally biting back a protest, but he can’t stop the sound that breaks free, low and desperate as Frank grinds against him again.

Frank’s tempted to draw out the teasing, if only to see Mikey unravel with need. Instead he changes the pace and starts to speed things up, his confidence growing as he takes in Mikey’s every reaction.

Frank pushes up on his toes, his mouth close to Mikey’s ear and says, “I’m going to fuck you instead. Right here, while the guys are just outside the door, and you’re going to stay silent.”

Mikey nods, his whole body jerking when Frank licks a stripe over his jaw and down to his neck. In part it’s a delaying tactic, Frank working out how he’s going to do this, because as much as he wants to, he knows it’ll be almost impossible to fuck Mikey while they’re both standing.

Quickly running through logistics, Frank makes a decision and takes a step back, fighting for his own control as Mikey staggers a little, color high in his cheeks and pants hanging open, framing his dick.

“Bend over the sink.” That part Frank’s sure of. What he’s not is whether Mikey should pull down his own pants or if Frank should do it himself. Frank can see the positives in both ways, but in the end the desire to keep watching wins out, and Frank adds, “Pull down your pants first.”

It’s a good decision. Frank barely breathing and his whole body feels hot as Mikey reacts instantly. His eyes dark he stares at Frank and puts on his own performance, fingers clutching the waistband of his pants, his knuckles white and thumbs splayed forward, brushing over his dick as Mikey pushes his pants to mid thigh. Slowly, Mikey turns, glancing at Frank over his shoulder before bending, forearms braced against the enamel front of the bowl.

The position leaves Mikey’s hair falling forward, soaking up splashes of soap scummed water and dragged through spat out toothpaste, as Mikey adjusts his stance, widening his legs as much as he can.

“Jesus, Mikey.” Frank says, breaking his own rule. Mikey’s shoulders are rounded and his back arched, his t-shirt pulled up and pants down. Mikey is exposed and ready, waiting for Frank to make his next move.

Frank thinks if he was doing this right he’d have more commands, be saying something to steer this scene, but right now words are beyond him. All Frank wants to do is touch, and he moves so he’s close behind Mikey, placing one hand on the small of Mikey’s back, feeling him tremble as Frank rests his other hand on Mikey’s ass, fingers sliding through sweat and old lube, and probably some of Frank’s come from this morning.

Frank keeps moving his hand lower, his finger easily slipping inside, but no matter how slick Mikey seems, how easily Frank can add a second finger, feeling Mikey jerk in response and tighten around him, Frank’s not about to fuck him like that.

Frank looks around and pulls out his fingers making Mikey groan, the sound echoing in the bowl of the sink. It’s a sound that goes straight to Frank’s dick, but he ignores the shiver of need that pulses through him and leans over, whispering, “I told you to keep quiet.” in Mikey’s ear. Frank waits for Mikey to nod his assent and then, one-handed, starts to unfasten his belt, knocking down shower gel and shampoo that clatter into the tub as he grabs a bottle of lotion that’s tucked into a corner of the shelf.

The bottle feels greasy, slick in Frank’s grip and tasting of soap as he uses his teeth to twist off the cap. Belt open, he holds the bottle in his mouth as he unfastens his button and zip, pushing down pants and underwear in one go.

Impatient, Frank coats his fingers, lotion dripping onto the floor as he throws the open bottle onto the laundry pile, where it settles upside down. Not caring, Frank moves behind Mikey, taking a moment to look in the mirror that hangs over the sink. Despite the water-spots and the splatters of toothpaste and coating of hairspray that turns everything cloudy, it’s easy to see he looks as wrecked as Mikey right now.

Desire a constant, rolling thrum, Frank reaches out and runs his fingers along the line of vertebrae visible below Mikey’s t-shirt. It leaves behind a trail, glistening against Mikey’s skin, catching Frank’s eye even as he keeps moving his hand, twisting it before pushing two fingers inside.

Aware of what Mikey can take, Frank doesn’t slow down or ease off, instead he pushes the pace, using his fingers to fuck Mikey open until he’s panting for air, his head dropping down to rest in the sink.

In terms of time it doesn’t take long, and normally Frank would be drawing this out, enjoying each moment as Mikey pushes back against each thrust of Frank’s fingers. Tonight he doesn’t get that, Frank pulling out and jacking himself twice with slippery wet fingers, coating his dick with the lotion that remains.

It’s enough, Frank knows that it is and he lines himself up, feeling light-headed as he looks down and sees the head of his dick nestled into the spread crease of Mikey’s ass, slick and stretched as Frank pushes inside with one long slow thrust of his hips.

He keeps pushing in, Mikey hot and tight around him, until it’s impossible to go further, Frank balls deep, his legs shaking as he resists the urge to pull and immediately slam back in. Not that he won’t, but not yet, Frank folding himself over Mikey’s body as he warns, “No sound, remember.”

Mikey nods, and Frank responds with a kiss, mouth pressed against the nape of Mikey’s neck, their bodies joined as Frank snatches a moment for his own form of ‘I love you’.

It’s one that lasts only a few moments, and then Frank’s pulling back, knowing there’s no way he can wait any longer. Straightening, he rests his hands on Mikey’s hips, holding on, his fingers digging in as Frank pulls back his hips and then thrusts back in with one fast and smooth movement.

The force is enough to push Mikey forward, making him scrabble for purchase as his arms slip on the edge of the sink. Frank doesn’t stop moving, fucking Mikey hard in the way that he knows Mikey loves, Frank twisting his hips, never slowing even when Mikey tenses as he comes, his fingers clutching in thin air before he makes a fist, working it up to his mouth and biting down hard.

Already Frank’s close, but seeing Mikey come apart so completely, needing to bite down in an attempt to keep in all sounds in case people hear, is the last push Frank needs. It feels like every part of his body is over sensitised, his skin prickling and his dick pulsing as he thrusts forward one last time as orgasm hits hard, Frank barely able to keep back his own groan.

He manages, but only just. Feeling weightless as he pulls out, and staggering as he takes stumbling steps to the toilet, uncaring that he’s sat down in splashes of cold piss. Legs spread and dick starting to soften, Frank watches Mikey, making sure he’s okay as he stands, straightens his glasses and pushes his soaked bangs off his forehead.

“You okay?” Frank says, noticing the bright red bite mark that circles the fleshy part of Mikey’s thumb.

“Better than.” Mikey’s turned, back against the sink as he pulls up his pants and fastens his button and belt. He looks over at Frank, looking serious as he says, “You need to do that more often.”

It’s something Frank can’t disagree with, not when he feels so good right now, sated as he pulls off a handful of toilet paper and rubs it over his dick. Perfunctory clean up over, Frank pulls up his pants and straightens his clothes, stilling when he suddenly realizes that Mikey hasn’t even made a token effort to clean up.

It means Frank’s come is still trapped up inside him, a claim in a way, but unlike bites and bruising, or even a stream of piss to the face, this one is hidden. An intimate link, something private that’s also scorching hot, Frank showing Mikey is his, even if nobody sees it.

Pleased, Frank smiles, looks at Mikey and says, “We’re going to miss the end of the movie.”

Mikey shrugs, says, “The shark dies,” his mouth curling up into his own smile.

“Spoilers, fuck.” Frank grabs a crispy sock, launching it at Mikey’s head as they both head for the door.

“I didn’t say how it died,” Mikey says, seemingly uncaring that he’s a movie spoiling bastard. “Or mention the torpedo.”

“I hate you,” Frank says, opening the door, and then freezes in place when immediately he’s greeted by a round of applause. His cheeks burning, he stares at Gerard, Otter and Ray, each one of them grinning as they clap. “I hate you all, too.”

“No you don’t,” Gerard says, and stops clapping when Mikey appears, pushing past Frank and easing himself into the space on the couch.

“Yeah, I really do.” Frank scowls at Otter and Ray, trying not to notice how Mikey and Gerard have their heads close together, Mikey saying something that makes Gerard beam and give Frank a thumbs up.

Which is embarrassing and ridiculous and Frank really does hate them all. Except in the way he doesn’t at all, and he sighs, catching Mikey’s eye and winking, before launching himself forward, retaliation in mind.


End file.
